


Back To You Ficlet: The Shirt

by balfeheughlywed



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 01:29:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16075526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balfeheughlywed/pseuds/balfeheughlywed
Summary: After living with Claire, Jamie finds that her worst habit is her inability to recognize the effect a certain piece of clothing has on him. Some fluffy smut, basically!





	Back To You Ficlet: The Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I am still working on a general outline for the second arc of Back To You, but in the meantime, I will be writing some ficlets to fill in the off time. This is a little fluffy smut for everyone to hopefully enjoy this Sunday.

There were brief moments in time where Jamie wondered what had made him think he was qualified to live with someone else. 

Of course, he had lived at Lallybroch with his parents and his siblings, but that wasn’t the same. He, Jenny, and William had all had their own rooms, their own spaces, and with them, the freedom to (mostly) do what they wanted. 

The way Jenny and William treated their bedrooms was of no concern to him; hearing his father bellow at his sister to clean up the piles of clothes she had thrown on her chair and the floor around her bed usually just made him chuckle, glad that she was the one getting in trouble for once instead of him.

And if William had left a wet towel on the floor in the bathroom, it didn’t make a lick of difference to him if his brother was forced to use a damp, smelly towel the next time he cleaned up because his mother refused to wash it for him or let him get a clean one out.  _ “Perhaps ye should learn to hang the towel back up, and ye willna smell like a sweaty horse afterwards,” _ Ellen had frowned more than once.

So he knew that everyone had their own bad habits.

He just had no idea how much Claire’s would affect him.

It wasn’t the way she left her dirty, worn socks on the end of the bed or the way she would leave an empty toilet paper roll on the holder without replacing it that bothered him. He even found her obsessive compulsive need to make sure there were absolutely  _ no crumbs _ on their kitchen countertops charming.

No, what drove him absolutely fucking crazy was The Shirt.

She had found it in one of his drawers the weekend they had decided to live together. They had gotten out of the shower  _ (satiated, giggling, skin glistening with water) _ , towels wrapped loosely around their bodies. He had offered to go through the boxes of her clothes to find a pair of pajamas, but she had shaken her head no, insisting she was fine with one of his tees until they were able to  _ “properly unpack.” _

And then she had slipped his Scotland team rugby shirt on over her head.

The material had softened and thinned from being worn and washed so many times before; the blue had faded in spots, the white team logo splashed across the front cracking along one corner. It hit her mid thigh, the sleeves almost reaching her elbows. With her skin still flushed a pearly pink from the heat of their shower, the beginning of a bruise he had made on her neck peeking through the curls she had begun to run her fingers through, he had nearly combusted right there on the spot.

Her wearing his shirt was the hottest thing he had ever seen in his entire life.

It hadn’t stayed on her for long, but she had unofficially claimed it as her own from that moment forward. He had lost count of how many times he had come home to find Claire wearing it, sprawled across the couch or their bed, her underwear clad bottom hanging out of his shirt as her long legs sprawled out in front of her.

She was oblivious to the effect she had on him. And that was his girlfriend’s worst habit by far.

So it really should have been no surprise to him what she was wearing when he got home. 

He had left their flat an hour earlier to run to the store to pick up some groceries to make them both a late night dinner. Claire had gotten home after a long day of classes and studying with Geillis and Joe in the library frazzled and hungry, her stomach growling as she kissed him hello. She had an upcoming exam that was incredibly important, and the stress of it was starting to show in the dark circles underneath her eyes.

He had frowned slightly at her, trying to hide the worry from showing on his face at how exhausted she looked.

“What did you have for dinner?” she had mumbled, moving to open the door of the refrigerator, one hand landing on her hip as she looked through the (admittedly bare) contents within.

“The rest of the chicken from the other night.”

She made a face, her nose scrunching up at him. “That couldn’t have been enough for you, there was hardly any left.” She shut the door, moving to grab her jacket off the top of the kitchen table where Jamie had tossed it after taking it off her. “I’ll just run up to the store really fast and get a few things to make us something.”

He grabbed her arms softly, shaking his head. “I dinna think so. Ye look beat, Sassenach. Go take a shower and get into bed. Turn the tv on and just relax. I’ll go to the store.”

She gave him a guilty look, biting down on her bottom lip as she often did when she was uncertain. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Go. I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay. I love you,” she said gratefully, standing up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck as she hugged him, her head resting snugly underneath his chin.

He kissed the top of her head before pulling away, chucking her chin. “I love you, too.”

He had picked up the necessary supplies to make one of her favorite meals  _ (avocado baked eggs, hash browns, and pancakes),  _ adding a small bouquet of flowers to his cart before heading to the register to pay for everything.

When he returned home, kicking the door shut behind him with his foot, the sounds of The Office drifted out of their bedroom door, sending a small smile across his face.  _ Good. _ She had listened to him for once and climbed into bed; she never studied with the television on. He set the bags down on the kitchen island, pulling out bowls and pans so he could start cooking, calling out “Honey, I’m home!” in Claire’s direction as he did so.

She laughed, her head popping up in the doorway, only her face and curls visible. “Do you want some help?”

“No, I’ve got it. Get back into bed, it won’t take long. Which episode did ye pick?”

She smiled slyly. “Why are you the way that you are? I hate…  _ so much…  _ about the things you choose to be.”

He shook his head at her in amazement, chuckling at her poor Michael Scott impression, remembering how he had been the one doing that very same thing the first night they ever watched the show together. “I canna wait to see more of yer acting skills, Sassenach. Now go, I have perfection to cook here.”

“Wow, so sure of yourself.”

“When it comes to you and cooking, always.” He winked at her  _ (and failed),  _ her giggle filling the space between them.

“I’m a lucky girl,” she quipped before disappearing into their room again, leaving Jamie to get their meal ready. He hummed as he cooked, frowning when a few pancakes fell apart in the pan. He finally placed everything on a tray, the flowers  _ (now trimmed and placed in a small vase) _ standing in the corner next to the syrup she would only use if it was warm.

He nearly tripped when he walked through their bedroom doorway, his shoulder bumping into the door jam as his vision zeroed in on Claire. She was lying on top of the bedspread, her hair in a messy bun on top of her head, curls escaping around her face, her glasses perched perfectly on her nose. Propped up on her side, wearing that  _ damn shirt,  _ his eyes followed the trail from her bare legs  _ (the ones that wrapped so perfectly around his waist) _ up to her ass. He could see just a hint of the round curves of her skin there, his fingers beginning to tingle as he itched to move forward and touch her.

She looked away from the screen to smile at him, her forehead crinkling a little bit when she noticed he was frozen in the doorway. “You okay?”

He cleared his throat, mentally kicking himself for standing there and gaping at her like a loser. “Aye. Dinner’s all ready,” he said, forcing his feet to move. He came around her side of the bed, placing the breakfast tray around her so she could eat.

“This looks incredible,” she gushed, a look of tenderness washing over her face as she reached out to touch the silky petal of one of the flowers. “What are these for?”

“I ken how hard ye’ve been working on yer studies. I thought they might brighten yer day like you do mine,” he shrugged.

His heart lurched when he saw her start to blink rapidly, clearly trying to fight off unwanted tears. “Christ, lass, I didna mean to make ye cry,” he said, his thumb wiping away a lone tear that had slipped down her cheek.

“I know. I’m just really glad you’re mine. Thank you for the flowers and for making dinner for me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well luckily ye’ll never have to find out,” he leaned down, kissing her on the forehead before moving around to the other side of the bed with his own plate and sitting down next to her, moving the pillows around behind his back to get comfortable.

He couldn’t stop glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as she tucked into her meal, her own eyes focused on the episode playing in front of them. She was sitting sex: the way her mouth would close around her fork, her tongue darting out to lick at the extra syrup there, a little moan of satisfaction coming from in her throat; the stray curl that was begging to be pushed back behind her ear; the way the neckline of his shirt was slightly lopsided on her, exposing a portion of her neck and shoulder that he could place his lips on and suck.

He took a bite of his own pancakes before looking at her again, nearly groaning out loud when he noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra, the swell of her breasts and nipples obvious beneath the thin cotton. The material covered just enough of her legs that he couldn’t tell what kind of underwear she was wearing, though it didn’t make a difference; he could already feel himself getting hard just from looking at her.

The fact that they had been on opposite schedules for the last few days  _ (one of them sleeping by the time the other got home, then gone before the other was up in the morning) _ which meant he hadn’t been able to have her in what felt like an eternity wasn’t helping matters down south, either.

He watched as she placed her fork down on her plate, her arms stretching above her head as she worked to get a kink out of her back. He could feel his heart start to hammer as her breasts pushed against the material, her nipples looking almost erect. She turned to him then and smiled, completely oblivious to what she was doing to him.

“That was delicious. I don’t think I could eat another bite even if I wanted to.”

“Hit the spot then?”

“Oh, yes.”

God, how he wanted to hit  _ her _ spot.

She yawned then, bringing him out of his reverie. He stood up to pick up their plates, piling them up on top of the tray. He made his way back towards the kitchen, leaving them on the counter next to the sink. The mess could wait until the morning.

Claire held the remote up when he came back to their room, waving it at him in invitation from beneath the covers. “Do you want to watch anything before we head to bed?”

“Whatever episode comes on next is fine,” he said, crawling underneath the covers himself.

He was hyper aware  _ (as always)  _ of her body next to his, nearly jumping when her foot lightly touched his ankle before stroking up his calf. He placed a hand on the curve of her waist, rubbing up her hip before dipping back down. Distracted by the noise of the television and Claire’s occasional laughter at the jokes, he didn’t notice his fingers had traveled underneath the material of his shirt, his hand running from her thigh around to her bottom, meeting nothing but flesh.

The realization that she wasn’t wearing any underwear nearly sent his dick lurching straight through his boxers.

As if she had read his mind and wanted to torture him more, she suddenly threw back the covers, her legs curling up as she pressed her bottom back into him. “It’s so hot in here,” she complained, wiggling until she was comfortable, somehow unaware that she was making his already hard erection almost painful as she settled against him.

He was wondering how she couldn’t possibly tell what she was doing to him when the alarm on her phone started going off, ringing and buzzing on the end of her nightstand. “Damn it, I forgot I turned that on at the library,” she groaned, sitting up and scooting away from him to try and reach it from her spot on the bed.

He had never been so grateful.

That gratitude quickly turned to something else when she got up on all fours, leaning over to grab her phone. He had a perfect view of her ass in all its glory before she sat back down, tossing her phone back in its place before smiling at him over her shoulder. “Sorry,” she said, “I set it because I wanted to—,”

He cut her off by tugging at her shirt, sending her tumbling towards him. He grabbed her by the waist and laid her down, rolling on top of her and pushing her shirt up. She gasped in surprise, a smile reappearing on her face. “Jamie, what are you—oh god,” her question turned into a mumbled whimper as he attached his mouth to one of her breasts, his hands running down her body, pushing her legs apart.

“Do ye ken what you’ve been doing to me?” he asked against her skin, moving his attentions to her other nipple as he began to stroke her with two fingers, already warm and wet for him.

“No,” she groaned, her fingers burying themselves into his curls, her nails scratching at his head. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Her hips arched into his body, looking for  _ more, _ and he heard his own answering groan leave his mouth, his eyes watching her intently as her body melted into his touch as it had done countless times before.

“Ye put on nothing but this shirt, with yer hair looking all wild, wiggling yer arse on me…” he circled around her clit with his thumb, smiling when she let out a hiss. “After making all those satisfied noises after ye lick the syrup off yer fork while you were eating.”

“Maybe I was pretending it was you,” she said breathily, her hands reaching down to grip him through his boxers.

“Fuck,” he whispered, nipping at her skin and making her yelp before his tongue ran a trail down her stomach, his hands pushing her legs further apart. He looked up from his spot between the apex of her thighs, his half-hooded eyes meeting hers, dark with desire. “I’m suddenly hungry again.”

Then he fastened his mouth to the very center of her, her body coming off the bed to push against him. He licked along her opening before swirling his tongue around her clit, one hand snaking up to cup her breast, squeezing and tugging at her nipple.

She moaned, her hands running through his hair before gripping the sheets, incoherent sounds slipping from between her lips when he pushed his tongue deep inside of her, licking and sucking.

“Jamie,” she said desperately, “please.”

He smiled against her, tongue continuing to drink her in as he used his other hand to gently cup her bottom, angling her hips towards him to draw her in even closer. He knew she was getting close when her legs startled to move restlessly against the sheets, her hands moving back to his hair, his own continuing to pull at her nipples.

He attached his mouth back to her clit, sucking, and then she was gone, her loud “oh  _ god, _ Jamie,” filling their bedroom as she squeezed her legs around him, her body finally going slack as he pressed a final kiss against her, moving back up her body to draw her close to him.

He held her as her trembling stopped, her heart still pounding beneath his hand before he moved it over to cup one breast. His own need was still throbbing, but he was content to hold her for now, his own heart full from knowing the pleasure he was able to bring her. 

“Babe?” she finally said, voice quiet.

“Yes, love?” he asked, kissing her behind the ear.

“I wear the shirt on purpose.”

He leaned up to look at her, his mouth hanging slightly open in surprise as he took in the satisfied  _ (now smug) _ look on her face. “Ye what?”

“I wear it on purpose,” she repeated, a giggle coming out of her mouth. “Did you really think I enjoy laying around the house in just a shirt and my underwear when you know how cold I get? How many sets of flannel sheets do we own now?”

He was speechless.

It only made her laugh more.

He sat up, slapping at her bottom as he did so. She swatted back at him, rolling onto her back as her smiling face met his. He quirked an eyebrow at her when she trailed one finger up and down the front of his boxers, before hooking into the waistband, pulling them down.

“I think ye deserve to be punished for toying with me for so long, Sassenach.”

“Oh, really? And how do you plan to do that?” Her eyes were gleaming with mischief and anticipation.

His own grin was slow and easy as it spread across his face. “Roll back over and get on yer knees, a nighean.”


End file.
